Julie Butler was perfectly capable of hard work and efficiency, but tended not to bother with either when her daughter was around. To some extent, Rosie couldn’t blame her for this. A lifetime spent running around after Colin and Michael meant Mum seized on any opportunity to slow down a little. It had always been the same: from a fairly young age Rosie had helped with housework and cooking, and then had taken the lead on looking after Grandpa George when he’d unexpectedly moved in with the family during her ill-fated first term at university.
He’d broken his hip while out playing bowls with an old army friend, and – while his wits remained as sharp as ever – his physical health had deteriorated with alarming speed. Rosie was shocked at the sight of him when she came home for the Christmas holidays. George’s recovery from hip replacement surgery was slow, and at the end of December the family was informed he’d need knee operations, too. Then came a cancer diagnosis. What should have been a brief stay at his son and daughter-in-law’s home would likely become permanent.
As the time drew near for Rosie to head back to her hall of residence, Colin and Julie began discussing care home options – and with no pause for internal debate, she told them to stop. Grandpa George had always been kind to her, seeming to think rather more of her than her own parents did. He’d often said that Rosie, with her silvery-blonde hair, curvy figure and green eyes, was a beautiful throwback: the image of his late, much-loved wife, Margery, whom Rosie had never met. While she’d laughed this off, it had meant something to her that he cared for her so deeply, and thought her capable of ‘making something of herself’.
She couldn’t –wouldn’t– allow him to be shunted into some sterile, unknown place to be looked after by overworked, underpaid strangers. She’d press pause on getting her degree, she told herself: postpone it until the time was right to pick it back up again.
Rosie still couldn’t bring herself to regret it, even though the temporary suspension of her psychology studies had stuck. The only thing she felt bad about was the fact that she’d broken her promise to her grandfather. Having assured him she’d head back to university as soon as she was able, she’d let the idea drift until it felt vague, distant and eventually impossible. On the rare occasions she let herself stop and think about it, she knew this would have disappointed him.
‘Do you three want some pud?’ Rosie heard her mother ask – the fact of her own, upfront refusal to eat dessert implicit in the question. Michael and Colin answered in the affirmative as Julie rose from her seat and passed from the small dining room back into the kitchen. Though Rosie hadn’t asked for any, when her mother returned she plonked a large helping of shop-bought vanilla cheesecake in front of her.
Rosie didn’t evenlikecheesecake – she never had – but she picked at it anyway, unable to bear the prospect of her mother’s beaming approval should she reject it. No doubt Julie would assume she was dieting if Rosie pushed her plate away untouched; perhaps her mother would even ask if she was trying to slim down in advance of wedding dress shopping.
The thought made Rosie’s lunch jump around in her stomach. Determinedly, she forced down a final bite of the fluffy-textured, synthetically sweetened confection before setting her fork down with a clang.
At the same moment, her dad and brother abandoned their empty plates and made for the sitting room. It had never occurred to either of them that their help with tidying up after a meal might be appreciated, so Rosie was unsurprised that the revelation didn’t strike now. She stood to help her mother clear the table, collecting crockery, cutlery and condiments for transfer to the kitchen.
‘I hope James isn’t out too late,’ Julie said, showing very little interest in helping Rosie clean up. ‘I don’t like to think of you by yourself in that flat of an evening. You’re not in the best part of town, are you?’
As Rosie rinsed congealing gravy from a plate, she felt her temper threaten to flare. She’d spent more evenings by herself lately than she could count, but she’d never once felt uneasy or insecure. In every way that mattered, she felt safer, happier and more settled in her little ground-floor flat than she ever had in this house. The home she’d made for herself was a safe space: somewhere she could live, not just exist, without feeling as though she would inevitably disappoint someone or end up the butt of a joke.
Besides, while Walthamstow wasn’t perfect, it was far from the urban hellscape her mother imagined. Like many parts of the capital, it had become increasingly gentrified in recent years. The presence of a health food store that sold loose-leaf herbal teas at £12 a jar made it clear the area’s demographic was shifting.
‘You don’t need to worry,’ Rosie told her mother, her tone final. ‘Believe it or not, our street’s quite sought-after these days.’ She thought fondly of Mr Bettini, who could easily have raised the rent on the flat to reflect its rising market value. He never had, but Rosie’s stomach swooped as she remembered that sooner or later her new landlord was bound to reconsider the sum she should be paying each month.
She’d spent the previous afternoon sending out speculative emails and texts to various friends and acquaintances who might need somewhere to stay, without spelling out the reason for her sudden desire to let the spare room. She’d also listed it for rent on various ‘find a room’ websites, not at all sure how she’d tell a potentially psycho applicant from a non-threatening normal.
Once she’d stacked her parents’ dishwasher and set the hot tap running to fill the washing-up bowl, Rosie pulled her handbag from the coat hooks by the back door and dug out her phone. She hadn’t had any responses this morning, but maybe some had come in since then.
Yes!There were three.
To her dismay she found that all the messages she’d received were from men – despite her advert’s clear, bold type statement that she would only consider a female flatmate. One guy had asked what she looked like, and another had attached an image to his note of introduction.
Fearful that it might contain a shot of some bodily appendage she had no desire to see, Rosie forwarded the message to Niamh, who’d always been stronger of stomach. She put three question marks in the subject line.
Seconds later, Niamh responded:
??DO NOT LOOK. Definitely not a candidate for cohabitation. Block him without answering – though god knows you could be forgiven for asking why he’s showingthatoff as though he has any kind of bragging rights.
Rosie heard herself snigger.
‘Is that James?’ her mum asked, nodding her head towards the phone in Rosie’s right hand.
‘Yeah,’ Rosie said. The lie felt like ashes in her mouth. Then inspiration struck: ‘He’s on his way home, so I should make a move soon.’
Julie looked around the kitchen, taking in the crusty baking trays and used saucepans stacked on the worktop. She looked dismayed.
Rosie shook her head, her resolve to flee the scene crumbling. She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. ‘Fine,’ she said, eyes locked onto Julie’s, warning her not to try another disappearing act. ‘I’ll wash if you dry.’
Chapter 8
As Rosie approached the office on Monday morning, she felt her spirits wilt. Cover 4 U was based on a purpose-built business park made up of austere, warehouse-like buildings. Even without taking the firm’s worst clients and staff into consideration, it was a grim place to work. The desks and chairs were cheap and insubstantial, the lighting harsh and the heating unreliable. Even the break room felt unwelcoming, with its ancient, limescale-clogged kettle and pinboard full of ‘important notices’, most of which were edicts issued by Martin.
In several spots around the claims handlers’ area were potted cacti, presumably put there by some well-meaning, naively optimistic HR consultant. Any long-term member of staff would have understood that even succulents seemed unable to thrive in this environment, drooping and yellowing as though death might be preferable to living here.
Rosie arrived at her workstation and waved hello to Ellie, silently nodding in acknowledgement that her friend was already engaged on a call. Ellie threw her a sarcastic thumbs up, but smiled in greeting as she listened to whoever she was dealing with.
‘Hey up,’ Ellie said a moment later as she removed her headset, pleased her call had ended. ‘You all right? You look a bit peaky.’
